


Dear Mark Watney,

by novaplume



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25080946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novaplume/pseuds/novaplume
Summary: Mark's time on Mars, as told through song recommendations and Mindy's diary perspective.
Relationships: Mark Watney/Mindy Park, Mindy Park & Mark Watney, Mindy Park/Mark Watney
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	Dear Mark Watney,

Dear Mark Watney,

How lame is this? I’m writing in a journal like I’m writing you a letter. You’re my imaginary friend, Mark. I know, I know. You’re a real person, but since I don’t actually know you and you don’t actually know who I am, I figure I’m safe… ish. I don’t think this will ever fall into the wrong hands, but what do I know? I’m just a satellite engineer at NASA.

So, you’re stuck on Mars, and I’m the lucky winner who found out you’re still alive. I don’t want the credit or infamy that comes with that discovery, but it’s too late for that and Annie tells me to get over myself on a daily basis. So, I’m getting over myself and writing to you in this journal. 

* * *

Venkat walks toward Mindy’s desk in Mission Control, wringing his hands in an understated way. Not that he was fooling anyone, or that anyone was even watching him - they were nerds after all. “Mindy, there’s a meeting you’re required to attend in five.”

“Great, I’ll be there - but you could have emailed that. What’s going on?”

“Nothing bad, I promise.”

“Well, that’s reassuring…”

With that, Mindy followed Venkat to Teddy’s personal conference room, worrying her lip in nervousness. What had Mark done now, and more importantly was she getting fired?

* * *

Dear Mark Watney,

I’ve been given control of all your satellites! Well, Mars’ satellites, but I’m watching you (Creepy, Mindy). It’s kind of a promotion, and I have no idea how it’ll happen, but yay. Well, not yay, you’re still on Mars and I’m feeling really stupid right now.   
  
Anyway, I’m doing my best to help keep you alive, but can you please stop doing stupid shit? Seriously, Mark. Just get control of yourself and rein in your crazy ideas. Please. Mars has no atmosphere. If you die, I’m going to get fired. Probably.

Dear Mark Watney,

Where the hell are you going? I mean, I know what direction you’re travelling, and how far you drive each day. But why are you driving straight away from the HAB without loading up any supplies? Breathe, Mindy, breathe. 

Okay, I realize now that you’re going to get Pathfinder. Great idea, honestly. I just hope it still works so you can communicate with NASA. 

I wonder what I would have done if I’d been in your position. That’s a new radio show, actually. I heard it on my way to work the other day. The idea is that they try to guess your next move, so people call in and talk about the most outlandish things they would do while stranded on Mars. Honestly, there were so many masturbation calls when they first started the show, and I am 97% sure they got a stern letter from the FCC. 

Dear Mark Watney, (Starman)

You made contact! I mean, you already know that. As soon as I got to my car, I started the engine, and ugly sobbed. Sweat, snot, tears, you name it, I was streaked with it. We can finally talk to you. I feel like today was the first day I could let go of the breath I’ve been holding since Sol 52, when I realized you were still alive. Now we’re both breathing, let’s get you home.

Someone predicted you’d try to make contact with Pathfinder. The station sent them like $500 for a correct guess. Can you guess who it was who called in?

* * *

Mindy stood in front of Annie, wringing her hands together while a single drop of sweat slid down her back.

“Mindy, I don’t know what you were fucking thinking!”

“I mean, I was thinking ‘Hey! I know how I can win $500! They’re not smart enough to know I work at NASA.’ So, I thought it would be fine.”

“You realize ‘Mandy from Houston, who works in extreme long-distance photography, and is 100% sure Mark Watney is going to retrieve Pathfinder’ is not hard to guess right? Just don’t do it again. I don’t work at fucking NASA to get headaches from annoying satellite engineers who can’t keep their mouths shut.”

“Well, technically I didn’t lie about anything except my name, and it was just inside the release of those images, so I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Money, Mindy. You made money on the side from a radio show that asks listeners to guess what Mark’s next move will be. You ‘guessed’ with 100% accuracy. Because you’re literally watching his every move. Have you even left the campus since you took up ‘Mars time’?”

“I mean, yeah… Most of the time. Technically, I take -”

“If I hear you say the word ‘technically’ again, I’m going to start drinking right here.”

“Okay, don’t lose it Annie. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Do you want me to buy you a drink. I’ve recently come into some money - about $500.”

“Jesus Christ.” Annie walked away, shaking her head and muttering about how she should have worked at Google instead.

* * *

Dear Mark Watney,

It was me. I called in. And I won $500! Honestly, you’d probably be proud of me. It was definitely something you’d do. I don’t regret it, but I probably shouldn’t have been so transparent. Next time, I’ll be ready: fake voice, fake name, PO Box, etc. Annie won’t be able to figure it out twice, right? Right?

Dear Mark Watney, (Moonage Daydream)

If you had drugs on Mars, this would be your theme. I don’t actually think you do drugs, but it’s just a thought. 

Dear Mark Watney, (Only Happy When It Rains)

“Only Happy When it Rains” came on the radio when I was driving to work today. How much do you miss rain? I know you’ve gotten condensation in the HAB, but it’s just not the same as having fresh water falling from the sky onto your upturned face.

Confession: I danced in the rain the other day for you. It was really embarrassing when I got caught and my neighbor asked if I was having a standing seizure. I didn’t think my dancing was that spazzy. Alas, I was wrong.

Dear Mark Watney,

Today I learned Morse Code just to join the conversation. I reply often, but only when I’m alone. Sometimes I wait until I get into my car, and just talk to you. I write it down later, but it’s never as emotionally raw as when I’m in my car, keys in hand, breaking down in tears over how lonely you are. I mean, I’m here for you but you don’t know that. Ever since we lost contact with Pathfinder, I know you’ve gotten more depressed. I know because I am too. I’ve been told not to get emotionally attached, but how can I not? I watch you every day, every waking hour. When you sleep, I sleep. When you’re awake, I’m awake. When you eat, I eat. I’m completely on a Martian schedule, and I don’t know what will happen if you don’t make it back to Earth. Seriously, please come back.

* * *

Mindy in tears on the elevator was not something Teddy expected to deal with ever. It had been a rough two weeks since NASA lost contact with Mark, and Teddy had not expected Mindy to be this emotional over it.

“Ahem…”

Mindy looked up in horror, realization dawning that she wasn’t alone. She scrambled for something to wipe her face with. Coming up empty, she noticed motion out of the corner of her eye. Teddy was handing her a handkerchief. “Thank you..” Why did tears have to do that to her voice?

“Are you alright, Miss Park?”

“Fine. Thank you. I mean, yes, sir.”

“You’re not a very good liar. But I wanted to tell you I’m impressed with your dedication during all this.”

“I’m only doing what I know everyone else in the building would do for me, if I were in that position.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong Miss Park. I’ve worked at NASA for quite a while, and as this is only the second major astronaut related issue, I know for a fact that most of these engineers would not show this level of dedication. I doubt they’d even know how to. You’re something else, Mindy Park.”

With that, the elevator doors opened and Teddy was gone. Later, at her desk, she’d see the email from the Director of NASA saying “Keep the handkerchief, you need it more than I do.”

* * *

Dear Mark Watney,

So, about that emotional attachment I’m definitely not supposed to be feeling? 

Oops.

Dear Mark Watney, (All Star)

All Star came on the radio today. You’re the type of person who would love to play that song, just to annoy people. Just to get it stuck in their heads. Like that John Mulaney “Best Meal I’ve Ever Had” bit. You would play seven All Star’s followed by It’s the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine) to give people a break, followed by more All Star. Maybe an Mmmbop to make people question their sanity.

Seriously, I wouldn’t trust you with a jukebox if you paid me. Although, it makes me giddy to realize that since everyone left in a hurry, and you forgot your data stick on the Hermes, the music choices you took to Mars are all the rest of your crew is left with for their journey home. I hope they play it, and I hope it’s awful.

I also enjoy coming across all the song dedications to you on the radio. Most of them are awful, standard, “let’s honor the dead” choices, but occasionally there is an amazing option and I write it down every time. I made you a playlist. It’s called “Mark Watney, this one’s for you”. Not that you’ll ever listen to it, but I think you’d like it.

Dear Mark Watney,

Today, Venkat asked me what I write about in my notebook. Afraid of what would happen if I said I write to you, I tried to make something up. “Poetry…” I said lamely. “Yeah, I have conversations with my imaginary Mark too.” You have so many people sending positive vibes to Mars, I’m not sure how you don’t feel them. Maybe you do.

When you do stupid shit, I guarantee Annie and Teddy are trying to vibe check you from here. I’ve heard things from their secretaries. It’s good to be low on the food chain occasionally. Not that secretaries talk to me much. I’m still a nerd. But I’m wonderful at overhearing/eavesdropping.

Oh, you’ll have your choice of ladies when you get back. According to the “office gossip”, you’re literally The Most Eligible Astronaut. The fact that your “crib” is another planet probably helps. I don’t think these women realize how unglamorous the Hab really is.

Dear Mark Watney,

Every song about space makes me think of you. I added a lot of them to your playlist. They’re almost all of them sad, but I don’t think that’s something that would deter you from liking a song.

I haven’t seen you outside much, and the last thing I saw you do was take the RTG in the HAB, which is extremely concerning. Please don’t die. I can’t get fired, Mark. If you do that to me, I will find you, again, and kill you, again.

Dear Mark Watney, (500 miles)

I am stuck on this thought that the rest of the crew is pretty grumpy about being forced to leave their data sticks on Mars, and only have yours to listen to on the Hermes. I included some songs in your playlist that I think would be on your data stick. I really wish you had yours, so you could (hopefully) be listening to “I’m Gonna Be (500 miles)” while you drive to Schiaparelli. I think no matter what you have there, it’d all drive you crazy. 

Let’s be real here, people aren’t meant to survive alone. And yes, that’s something my mother has said right before telling me about the newest doctor/lawyer/etc she’s set me up with. I told her I’m seeing someone. It’s not a lie, but you didn’t exactly agree to this situation.

Dear Mark Watney, (Are You Gonna Go My Way)

I can picture you trying to flag down Marvin the Martian with, like, an electric guitar and amp you’ve made with the most ridiculous materials, to hitch a ride. You’re in your EVA suit, standing with one foot on the amp, with the rocky Martian landscape behind you while playing some kick ass riff, singing “Are You Gonna Go My Way”. It’d be a good look for you. Obviously it wouldn’t work, but I mean, that’s not really the point of this.

Dear Mark Watney, (What’s My Age Again)

Today, someone dedicated a song to you that made me question … things…

I don’t know how you feel about blink-182, but the song probably fits. Do you have a friend/brother/cousin named Frank?

I mean, you do think you’re an interplanetary pirate, so….

Dear Mark Watney, (Come Home)

“I’m just waiting for you to come home”. A sentiment that really speaks for the whole world, Mark. Everyone’s waiting for you to come home. We were all tangled up in grief, then shock, then hope, and now? You’re almost here. I’m so glad you survived - you lived. 

Dear Mark Watney, (Where Does The Time Go)

Where does the time go/ I don’t want this to end

It’s a terrible sentiment, but I’m going to miss you. What will I do now that you’re off Mars? How do I just move on from being your Space Paparazzo? I feel like someone just punched a hole in my chest and left it empty. I’m back on autopilot of my normal duties, and I just don’t think it’s going to work. Coffee, Mars, 3 a.m. shift. I’m no longer in charge of Martian satellites. Back to being a grunt again. Sort of. It’s not like I have to fetch coffee for anyone other than myself, but damn if myself isn’t a demanding bitch.

Dear Mark Watney,

Welcome home. I still can’t believe you’re back. The reality hasn’t sunk in yet, not really. It’s just that messy emotional stuff I told you about before. Rationally speaking, I know exactly how safe you are, but I can’t stop thinking about your morse code messages on Mars, or the modified Hab you called home for so long. I have a mantra to remember now: Mark survived Mars. Mark is on Earth. Mark is safe.

Not really a mantra now I think about it. 

Dear Mark Watney,

Venkat found my notebook today, and “accidentally” read a few pages. I want to crawl into a hole and die now. How am I supposed to look this man in the eye ever again?

Dear Mark Watney, (Only You)

I met you today. It’s probably weird that I’m still writing to you. I haven’t told you about this, and I don’t know if I’ll get to know you well enough to tell you, but somehow I feel like it’d probably help you to know.

So, the meeting. It was really great to see that you’re back on Earth with my own eyes. I always knew you’d make it back, but seeing you in person made it more real. The hug helped too. I can’t say I wasn’t expecting it, but I also didn’t have my hopes too high. I know you’ve been touch starved, and I’m glad you’re taking comfort and not reeling from overstimulation.

Dear Mark Watney, 

I met you again today. You remembered my name, probably in part due to Venkat. He will never let me forget I’m the reason you’re alive. I don’t like to take that much credit, I only spotted you, and then watched you, and followed you to Schiaparelli. Alright, maybe I do need to reevaluate my participation in your rescue.

Anyway, I realized today that even though I’ve met you twice, in person, I haven’t felt as close to you as I did while stalking you on the surface of Mars. Being 125 million miles away, with the best satellites in my arsenal, observing (not interacting), was the closest I’ve ever felt to another person in my life. Thank you, Mark. I’m glad you didn’t die.

Dear Mark Watney, (Just What I Needed)

Tonight you fell asleep on my couch. I think you were afraid to go home, where you would be alone. Have you slept in your own apartment since coming back from Mars? I’m guessing the answer is no. I really don’t mind if you want to stay here sometimes, but I know the couch has springs that jut in multiple directions, lumps in all the wrong places, and arms that are quite probably made from cement. I’m afraid if I offer my bed, you’ll take it the wrong way. At least my bed is squishy. Maybe that’s why you sleep on the solar system’s worst couch.

Dear Mark Watney, (Better Together)

Do you still watch the stars? What am I thinking? Of course you do - just because you almost died on Mars doesn’t mean you hate the thing you’re most passionate about. I haven’t had a chance yet, but I want more than anything to watch the stars with you on a blanket in the park. I mean, I live in an apartment, so I don’t exactly have a yard. But I do have a favorite place to watch them, and I’d like to take you there.

Dear Mark Watney,

It’s time I put this notebook to rest, permanently. You already know about it all, and have read it multiple times. I believe you’ve compared it to your video logs on numerous occasions.

My “oops” is no longer an oops, and I can’t wait to watch the stars with you for the rest of forever. I’ll meet you on the hill.


End file.
